


Losing His Religion

by mandylynn4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2016_SPN_Reversebang, Jimmy is a priest, Labelled underage for timestamps later, M/M, Smut light for now, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandylynn4/pseuds/mandylynn4
Summary: It's autumn, 1995, and the school year has only been underway for a few weeks when the Winchesters pull into a seedy motel on the outskirts of Sallisaw, Oklahoma, intent on finding the cause of three strange murders. Twelve year old Sam finds a wooden church in the woods after getting distracted on his walk home from school. He meets Jimmy, a man preparing for life in the seminary. They quickly become comfortable enough to discuss faith and life, but Jimmy suspects something strange about this child...about the faithlessness of his family....about the monsters Sam claims to have seen.... He questions the motives of the family, until, like the sudden murders, they're gone.His own faith is tested and continues to change through the next ten years - when he finds himself face to face with Sam and Dean Winchester, posing as priests to uncover details about identical murders from 1995.





	1. Fall 1995

  
**Art Link(s):** [LJ](http://loracine.livejournal.com/31094.html)   
  
** [Collapse](http://mandylynn4.livejournal.com/123027.html#cutid1) **

~*~FALL 1995~*~  
It was a warm, sunny fall afternoon - one that almost made the locals believe summer hadn’t truly gone away - and Jimmy Novak had been cleaning some items that a parishioner’s family had left after their passing. The small church’s two stained glass windows didn’t open, so the air was heavy and sticky, but Jimmy didn’t mind. He’d propped open the doors to the sanctuary to let in the outdoor air. The silence, save for the rustling of leaves in the wind, was peaceful and deep and his thoughts often wandered to his own discernment - about how he would serve God and others with his calling. But for now, he was simply enjoying the quiet and being able to work with the pieces in the comfort of his faded jeans and t-shirt. Jimmy welcomed the mindlessness of his task as he used a soft cloth to clear the glass of a beautiful painting. He’d been working alone in the church for so long that day that he’d almost forgotten that other humans existed.

He startled when he heard the shuffling sound of sneakers on the scarred wooden floor and spun around, nearly dropping the painting. “Oh!”

A boy, probably not much older than twelve, stood in the doorway. His sandy-colored hair flopped in front of one eye and his hands clutched at the strap of his backpack, slung over one thin shoulder. A Walkman was clipped to his belt and the headphones hung from his thin neck. He surveyed the sanctuary with darting, untrusting eyes. “S-sorry...I just...the door was open and I-”

“No, it’s alright,” Jimmy said, safely placing the painting down and offering a genuine smile. “I just got carried away with my thoughts. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No. I just was wandering around and saw this place. Thought maybe I’d see what it looked like on the inside.”

“I see. Welcome!” Jimmy wiped his hands off with his cloth and stepped forward, hand outstretched, noting how the boy tensed as he got closer, almost defensively. “Uh, well, I’m Jimmy Novak. I’m a seminarian for St. Michael’s. And you are?”

“Sam.” His knuckles turned almost white as they clenched on his backpack and he took a step backwards, glancing over his shoulder and out into the forest as if looking for someone behind him.

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” An awkward moment passed before Jimmy cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “Forgive me, Sam, but I’ve not seen you around before. I’m sure there are people in Sallisaw that I’ve not met, but it’s unlikely. Many are church family here or friends of the same. Are you here for a special occasion? Visiting relatives?”

Sam shifted nervously from one foot to the other, face hidden away by his hair again. “Nah, we’re just passing through. Not sure how long we’re staying but Dad’s got a tough job to do in town before we can leave, so it’ll probably be a couple weeks or so..”

“Your whole family travels with your father?”

“It’s just me, Dean, and Dad. So yeah.”

“I see. That must be fun for you and...your brother?” The boy nodded, so Jimmy decided to keep going. “What kind of work does your dad do?”

“Uh….he’s a...a salesman.” Sam took another step towards the door, now halfway outside where the sun streamed down and cast his face in shadow. “I should probably get home…I wasn’t really paying attention when I was walking, listening to this new tape Dean got me….”

“I understand. You’re pretty far from the town to be walking, really. A couple of miles or so. And it’ll be getting dark here shortly. There's been a few incidents around here lately, so walking might not be safe. Do you need a ride?” He saw the boy’s hackles raise at the suggestion, so he quickly added, “Or to call...uh...Dean to pick you up?”

“No….no. I can walk. I can make it before the sun sets. It was nice meeting you, Sir.”

Jimmy nodded. “Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Sam. I hope to see you in town and maybe at Mass on Sunday?” He turned back to his task, bending down to rifle through a box of items. “If you think you need a ride, though, I’ve got Father Halloway’s old pickup out back. Won’t be a problem at all,” he threw over his shoulder. He waited a few minutes, trying to focus on his work instead of the silence that indicated the boy hadn’t left yet. Finally, though, he heard the boy shuffle away.  
~*~  
“Sam!”

Sam’s steps faltered on the path, head whipping around towards the sound of his brother’s voice in the woods. He could hear the crunching of leaves under Dean’s boots and he couldn’t help flinching the next time he heard the booming of his voice in the twilight. “Over here,” he hollered back, slowing his pace.

Dean’s shadow stretched out in front of him, long and dark gray, a hulking mass on the path as he rounded a slight bend. Thick leather jacket, collar turned up. Bulky boots and loose fitting jeans. Hand clasped around the thick handle of a hunting knife. He should be roasting out here today, but Sam knew he probably looked cool as a cucumber. Sam couldn’t make out his face just yet, the sun behind him, but he saw the way his brother’s shoulders relaxed slightly when he caught sight of Sam unharmed. Dean tucked the knife away in the pouch under his jacket as he jogged closer. “Sam! Jesus, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over since four.”

“Got turned around a bit when I started walking to the motel. Guess I got distracted. No big deal.”

“No. It is a big deal, Sam.” Dean was close enough that Sam could smell the fragrance of a stale cigarette on him. It set off alarm bells - Dean only bummed cigarettes when he was stressed out and when Dad wasn’t due back for a bit.

“You were smoking?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he tucked Sam under his arm, none to gently. He began herding Sam along the path, in the direction he’d come from, nervously looking behind them every once in a while. “Look. Dad’s working a hunt, Sammy. Dangerous stuff. People are turning up missing or dead. I’m already up shit creek because the salt lines weren’t up when he got back last night and you’re running around Oklahoma’s backwoods like some-”

“You found me, didn’t you?” Sam tugged away from Dean’s hold and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. The Impala was visible ahead. “I was just on my way back to the motel anyway. Jeez.”

“Seriously, dude? You couldn’t stay at home until I got there? Or at least leave a note?” Dean’s hands were shaking as he grabbed for Sam’s arm. He missed, but his blunt fingers snagged a bit of Sam’s hoodie, and he reeled the younger boy in like a fish on a pole. “You’re damn lucky Dad’s still at the library researching shit. He’s gonna be super pissed when he finds out you’ve been traipsing around the woods like this all by yourself.” He did a quick once-over and his frown deepened. “Unarmed even! Fuck!”

“I’m fine, Dean!” Sam wrenched his arm loose of his brother’s grip, but climbed into the Impala just the same. “I went for a walk. It’s not even dark.” When Dean didn’t respond, he blew an indignant breath into his bangs. “I’m not a baby.”

Dean scoffed as he started the car with a loud roar. “Yeah, well…”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the town coming into view quickly. Random people waved at them as they drove past. Sam sunk down in his seat away out of habit. Small towns made him feel exposed and vulnerable. Dean’s nervous tapping on the steering wheel made him decide to break the silence, though.

“There’s a church back there,” Sam gestured behind them with a thumb. “The guy working there was telling me-”

Dean turned sharply to look at him. “A church? In the middle of the woods?”

“Yeah. It’s called St. Michael’s and it’s-”

“No. Stop.”

“Dean, it’s a Catholic church. It’s got Holy Water and crosses. It’s not evil. If you’d just go see it…”

“I’m not going near a church in the woods, especially when we’re working a hunt that Dad’s thinking has religious ties to it - no matter how fine it seems.” He shook his head disapprovingly as he pulled the car into the lot of the hotel. “Just….just go inside and do your homework.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, checking the perimeters like he was trained to do. Once he was satisfied, he slid one hand under the seat and retrieved a crumpled package of cigarettes. “Don’t tell Dad this happened.”

Sam sighed, exasperated. “Whatever.”  
~*~  
It was two days later when the boy stepped into the church again, red checked flannel tied around his scrawny waist. The armpits of his t-shirt were damp, and his shaggy hair stuck to his face.  
Jimmy put the last songbook on the shelf. The air in the church was humid; he wiped small beads of sweat from his upper lip. He looked up when Sam entered. Smiling brightly, he said, “Sam! How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“Good to hear it. What brings you by today?”

“Just bored and thought I’d explore. I mean, if you don’t mind me hanging out for a few minutes. I don’t really want to go back yet.” He looked down at his shoes again. “Not really any reason to get back soon anyway, with Dad at….work. And Dean’s busy with Heather.” The girl’s name was spoken with a twinge of jealousy that the seminarian had to hide a smile at.

“Absolutely. You’re welcome to ‘hang out’ all you want. I’m just straightening up around here. I might not be the greatest company, but the church can be a great place to explore. Do you have anything you want to explore in particular?” He waited for Sam to offer a response, but the boy simply approached a painting on the wall.

He peered up at it with a strange combination of wonder and skepticism. The tinny sound of music could be heard through the headphones around his neck; Jimmy wondered briefly what he was listening to. As if sensing the unspoken question, Sam flipped off the Walkman with a flick of his thumb. He used the same thumb to point at the angel in the painting.

“Who’s that? Uh...I mean, it’s an angel, right?”

Jimmy nodded, studying the painting and the child at the same time. “That’s the archangel Gabriel, I believe.”

“You don’t know? I mean,” the young boy’s cheeks flushed red, “I thought you were a pastor or something.”

Jimmy chuckled. “Well, I’ve just started my journey to becoming a priest and haven’t studied much about depictions of the deities yet. But, I’m fairly certain.”

“I guess you don’t look like a priest.” Sam scuffed one toe of his sneaker on the ground, but he seemed to relax a little at the information. “So, what do you do to become a priest? I mean, do you study the Bible or pray a lot?”

Jimmy laughed lightly. “Some of both of those, actually. Bible study, prayer, community service to our town, and service to the church here. I can’t start the seminary until I’m 24, so I’m also taking classes for my Bachelor’s degree. In the meantime, I get to shadow an experienced priest and learn from him how the church community works from his point of view.”

“You’re going to college?” The boy’s eyes shone with interest.

“Yes, it’s a requirement to have a degree in addition to the seminary graduation.”

“Like, classes about the Bible and stuff?”

“I happen to be studying communications, but Father Halloway was a philosophy major, which I suppose is similar to ‘the Bible and stuff.’” Jimmy chuckled when Sam’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I guess those courses help priests understand the Bible and God’s work more easily and I’m hoping that communications will help me deliver God’s message effectively to everyone. I’m not terribly well versed in conversation, obviously.”

“Me, either,” Sam smiled, one dimple flashing briefly. “Communications is like, public speaking and stuff?” At Jimmy’s nod, Sam continued. “Huh. That’s cool. I always just thought you just decided to become a priest and then did some weird ritual or ceremony or something.”

Jimmy sat down in one of the short wooden pews in the sanctuary, gesturing for the boy to join him. Sam stayed near the painting, though, so Jimmy turned so he could speak to him better.  
“There’s an order to all of this, as any career path you choose, Sam. But I guess the first step is to get the call to the priesthood.” When Sam didn’t respond for a moment, Jimmy coughed and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “It’s kind of like finding something you have a deep interest in doing. Discovering something you love to do and have a passion to study. Some people enjoy studying art and take steps to become graphic artists. Others find joy in crunching numbers and go to school to become accountants. Of course, the priesthood has a bit more profoundness in the calling, but it’s similar.” Jimmy paused, taking in the way Sam’s face became open and thoughtful at his words. “You seem like a bright young man. Are you planning on going to college someday, Sam?”

And just like that, the wall inside of Sam flew back up. The boy frowned, slightly crooked front teeth biting down on his lip as he thought. He sat down gingerly on the pew directly behind Jimmy’s, letting his book bag slide to the floor, and looked back over at the painting of Gabriel. “Maybe. But probably not.” His voice sounded far away and small, much younger than he appeared and for some reason it made Jimmy’s heart twitch painfully. When he looked back at the seminarian, though, his expression had hardened and there wasn’t a doubt in Jimmy’s mind that the child was living with the expectation of being much older. Sam cleared his throat, as if clearing his mind as well, and looked straight into Jimmy’s eyes. “So you believe in angels, then, right? Like that Gabriel guy? In real life?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, my mom used to believe in them - that’s what Dean says anyway. And Pastor Jim that we used to stay with thought they might be real…,” he trailed off, then looked at Jimmy. “Have you seen one?”

“No, not personally.” Jimmy’s brown creased in concern. “But, just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, Sam. That’s called faith.”

Sam’s eyes went back to the painting, staring hard enough to bore holes into it. “But how did the artist know what to paint, then? I mean, if no one’s seen an angel before?”

“I’m not sure. There are enough stories in the Bible that describe the angels. The voices of God’s prophets told those stories.”

“But how does anyone know if these people were telling the truth or not? It could just be a bunch of guys who told the same silly story they made up together. They could write anything they wanted. There’s no proof.”

“I….” Jimmy swallowed, wishing that Father Halloway was here to help him with this child. A child who obviously had not grown up believing in anything that wasn’t real or tangible and who had no concept of faith. Jimmy felt a piece of his heart breaking inside to think that the spark in this boy was being snuffed out due to a complete lack of hope. He took a shaky breath. “I don’t have any proof, Sam. I have faith that it’s true and so many others hold these same beliefs. We trust in the Lord. We come together once a week - sometimes more - and talk about these things. We take pleasure in knowing that someone is out there to help us with our lives, to guide us when we need it.” He slid across the pew, reaching out a hand to the boy, intent on offering a slight bit of reassurance. “You mentioned your mother believing in angels...does she still? What does your family believe in, Sam?”

Sam got up suddenly, picking his bag up off the floor. “My mom died when I was a baby. I should probably go. Dad’s gonna wonder where I’m at.”

Jimmy gave him a soft smile, trying not to let on the deep-seated concern building inside him as he dropped his hand. “Of course. Be careful getting back, Sam. The police are still looking for answers in these brutal crimes nearby. I don’t want to have to read about you in the paper tomorrow.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before continuing, thinking about the three people they’d found carved up in the woods. “Maybe you can come to Mass on Sunday and learn more about the Catholic faith? Explore the beliefs your mother might have held?”

“Yeah….uh...maybe.” He started to leave, but doubled back as he passed the large holy water font near the doorway. “Uh….this is going to sound weird, but….can I…” He gestured at the water. “With all that's going on - the murders - maybe I can start with this and try to believe in something.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, but went to fetch a small vial for holy water anyway. They’d take these to shut-ins and the nursing homes and hospitals nearby, but this was the first time someone had asked for one. He filled the bottle and held it out to the boy.

“You know not to drink it, right?” he teased. “People dip their hands in it. Sometimes, babies’ heads.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Duh.” He slid the vial into his pocket. “Thanks.”

With that, the boy was gone, skittering out of the sanctuary as if a motor was attached to his backside. Jimmy made his way to the back of the church, settling into the tiny office. He picked up the old rotary phone, dialing a number by heart.

“Hello? Father Halloway? I’ve got a few questions….”  
~*~  
Sam smiled up at the waitress, happily digging into the piece of strawberry shortcake she placed in front of him. “Thanks.” His math textbook was spread out on the table, but he’d long since forgotten about it in order to eat dinner.

“Not a problem, sugar. Your daddy told me to look out for you and your brother - make sure y’all get enough to eat.”

Dean gave her his flirty grin, stretching out in the booth so that his shirt tightened around his chest. “That’s real nice of you, ma’am.”

Sam rolled his eyes. But the waitress laughed, throwing her head back so her blonde curls swept across the middle of her back. Sam had to admit that, while she was pretty, she was also obviously as old as their father. It didn’t seem to bother her that a teenage boy was hitting on her, though. Her eyes glittered with promises when she looked down at Dean. “Don’t you dare call me that! I’m not old enough for that yet. Y’all can call me Jill.” As she turned to walk away, she sent another flirty glance at him, hips swaying slightly. “The tab’s been paid up for you boys. So once you get done, just leave the plates. A ‘right?”

“You’re too kind, Miss Jill!”

Sam coughed to catch her attention, then held out his water glass. “Could I get some more water, please?”

“Sure, honey.” She took it from him, frowning when a drip of water slid down over the back of her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

Once she was gone, Sam put his fork down and scowled. “Do you have to be like that?” He pushed the plate of shortcake away and began shoving books back into his backpack. “It’s gross.”

Dean sat up, blinking. “Huh?”

“She’s like thirty, Dean. Like a mom.”

“Not my mom,” Dean smirked, sending another glance after the waitress. When he noticed Sam’s huff of irritation, he sat up. “Sorry, Sammy. Didn’t know it ruffled your feathers.”

“Well, at least she’s not a demon.”

Dean’s eyes darted around the restaurant, panicked. “Dude…”

“I put holy water on the outside of my glass. Got it from Mr. Novak.”

“Seriously?”

“Just had to know.”

He took a bite of his pie and frowned. “This pie is crap.”

“Let’s just go. I’ve got a report to finish.”

“On Lord of the Flies? You’ve read that thing like three times and written as many reports on it already.”

“Yeah, well, some people like to reevaluate their work.”  
Dean threw his napkin down on top of his plate, digging out a couple of dollars from his pocket for a tip, and squinted at his brother. “Whatever, nerd. I was gonna see if you wanted to go see a movie at the theater, but I guess…”

“Dean…”

“Fine.” The muscles in Dean’s jaw ticked in frustration and Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek at the rush of warmth that went through his body as he watched it. “It’s getting dark anyway. Dad will be pissed if we’re not back before the sun goes down.”

Sam had to scramble to get everything collected from the table and follow his brother outside. And if he relished the slight cool breeze on his hot face? He chalked it up to the heater being too warm in the diner. He ignored the way his stomach clenched as he watched his brother stalk down the road angrily.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way watching Dean, but it had certainly changed from only a year ago. Now, it wasn’t just hero worship; little brother wanting to be like big brother. Now it was confusing and strange and humiliating. It was like when Katie in Louisburg had asked if he’d like to study with him and batted her eyes. Or like when he’d accidentally looked over and noticed Chris in Abilene smiling at him as he changed for gym class. The rush of adrenaline and heat through his body was akin to those times. But Dean was his brother, which brought on another wave of the same. Sam ducked his head and forced himself to think about his report; forced his thoughts from the taboo ideas his warped brain supplied.

Puberty was fucking weird.  
~*~  
“Gotta hit the head,” John Winchester said, voice gruff with exhaustion - and quite possibly a fair amount of whiskey. His duffle bag hit the floor just inside the door with a heavy thud. “Make sure you tell your brother to clean that gun of his. Can’t get jammed like that again. Not if he wants us to stay alive out there.”

Sam looked up from his reading assignment to respond, but his father was already closing the bathroom door behind him. Dean came through the battered door shortly after, looking weary with his filthy, sawed-off shotgun dangling loosely in one hand. He slid it onto the rickety table beside Sam. The youngest Winchester pushed the dirty barrel off his notes and placed his bookmark back into his assigned novel before regarding his brother more thoroughly. He repressed a shudder his body threatened as he fully took in the sight of him. For some reason, wrecked Dean did a lot for him.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked. “Dad seemed pissed.”

“It’s fine.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “I just didn’t get my gun in order like I was supposed to. Almost got us killed when a fucking thing came out of nowhere and my damn gun got jammed.” He slumped down in the tattered recliner nearby and sighed. “Dad’s quick at least. Made sure we didn’t get as much as a scrape. And watch your mouth.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Like you care.” He watched as Dean stripped off his jacket and flannel, taking inventory of his limbs, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d escaped intact. “What was it anyway?”

Dean looked up at Sam as he emptied his pockets onto the dingy bedspread. His voice was low, glancing towards the bathroom door occasionally. “To be honest? I’ve never seen anything like it. But Dad’s got a line into some other hunters. He stopped by a payphone on the way back in; talked for a long time and made a bunch of notes in his journal.”

“You think Dad knew what it was?”

“No.”

Sam swallowed against his dry throat. “Seriously?”

“I’m sure he’s gonna find out. That’s why we’re here, right?” Dean came closer, putting a warm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t worry.” He gave his younger brother a small, reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder briefly and leaned closer, a final check over his shoulder for their father. “But it was totally fucked, Sammy...it looked kind of like-”

The bathroom door swung open and Sam watched as his older brother’s body stiffened, hand falling away from his shoulder and face flushing. John was tucking in his shirts. He surveyed the room, eyes narrowing at the door. “I’m going out. Gotta lead on something down at the diner. You boys stay here. Don’t stay up late and fix the damn salt lines.” The door was already shutting behind him. A moment later, the familiar rumble of the Impala taking off filled the room.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Dean said softly, a strange tone to his voice. Sam looked at him curiously. Dean sighed. “How’re you comin’ on your homework?”

“Almost done.”

“Good. And you ate?”

“Yep. Washed the dishes, too.”

“Brown-noser,” Dean teased with a small, weary smile. “How’s about we find something good on the boob tube when you’re done with the studying?” He fetched the bag of salt from the floor near the door and began checking the lines around the room. When Sam didn’t answer, he offered, “Maybe we can find something on pay per view, eh?”

Sam shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Like what?” He thought back to the few times he’d woken up and caught Dean watching adult movies on motel televisions. Sweat prickled his underarms when he recalled the sounds his brother made and how he had an impulsion to be able to see more than just the back of Dean and the lewd program he was watching. He knew that’s what teenage boys did when left to their own devices - and more recently, he’d began to see the value in touching his own body - but seeing it was a dirty thrill in itself. He dragged his mind back from those thoughts, swiveling in the chair so his lap was concealed under the table. Luckily, Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know.” The older brother snagged the cardboard advertisement off the top of the television set and scanned the programs. “At eleven Batman Forever’s on.”

“We’ve seen it like three times already.”

“Yeah, but it’s Batman, Sam. You can’t go wrong with the Riddler and Two-Face.”

Sam couldn’t help smiling up at his brother. Dean’s face became so young, so carefree when he could just focus on kid stuff and not hunting…. “Okay. Point. But I’ve gotta get this stuff done first, okay? And you gotta dress your gun before Dad gets back.”

“Ughhh...party pooper.”

Sam laughed and tried very hard not to notice the way his brother’s joints became looser, his eyes sparkled, or his entire being resembled the sixteen year old he was supposed to be. He was happy and that made Sam happy. And if it happened to be a few minutes before he could safely stand up from the table? No one needed to know why...  
~*~

Sam rolled over in his bed, startling awake when he heard the scratching noise across the room. The television was still on, although the sound had been turned down and the screen was running through the pages of the local channel’s programming. Dean’s head was visible at one end of the small sofa, an arm stretched over his eyes in slumber. Soft snores came from the other bed, where Sam could see his father’s form, still clothed, stretched diagonally across the covers. He must have come in and passed out, his shoes still on. A quick scan of the door revealed his father’s break in the salt line, boot prints scattering the grains of salt throughout the threadbare carpet. Sam swallowed against the lump of fear in his throat.

Scritch-scritch-scraaaaatch…

Sam’s eyes flicked over to the darkened doorway of the bathroom, where the sounds were coming from. “Dean,” he tried to say, but his voice was weak and small. His brother didn’t move. He was afraid to try saying it again; worried that whatever was scratching would hear him.

Slowly, he reached under his pillow and retrieved the silver knife he kept there. The vial of holy water was tucked under his pillow, too, but he ignored it for now. His mind whirled with bits of Latin he’d heard his father chanting during hunts, but he was unsure of the order in which to say any of them. His heart sped up as the scratching got louder. He caught movement in the bathroom - a shadow amongst the darkness - and his breath caught.

A woman’s shape. Long, curls down a slender back. Thin fingers with pointy nails. Soft curves. Willowy legs. Glowing, golden eyes - catlike.

Sam shivered as the figure scratched her nails down the doorframe, walking forward and into the room. He could see now, even in the dim light that it was not at all a woman. Its face….

“Sammmm,” the thing whispered. It was at the foot of his bed, nails - no claws - gripping the coverlet and pulling it towards her.

Sam shook, the whole bed vibrating with his fear, and he couldn’t believe his brother and father weren’t waking up to this. He didn’t try to keep the covers on his body, though, knowing that he’d lose strength if it came to a fight. The covers were of no use, anyway. His hand hurt with the force he was gripping the knife with and he couldn’t stop the instinctual pull of his legs up underneath him as he scrambled up on the bed.

“Go-go away,” he said, voice watery. He felt his eyes sting with tears and since when had he started crying at the sight of a monster?

“Oh, Sam,” the creature hissed, amusement evident. “That knife won’t harm me. And the holy water is laughable. If you think that man in the woods has magic, you're sorely mistaken, baby. In fact, you should tell Daddy over there that I won’t be easily countered. You know, when you get your big boy voice back.”

Sam gasped as the monster shifted closer to the supine form of his father. Its hand reached out and raked a sharp nail over John’s chest, blood marking the front of his shirt as it carved into his flesh. John grunted in his sleep, but didn’t move otherwise.

“Don’t worry, baby,” the monster grinned. It regarded Sam through strands of fiery red hair, golden eyes blazing stronger as the blood spilled. “He can’t feel it. Yet.” It slashed in deeper, just at the sternum. Blood spurted upwards, sprinkling the creature’s face and causing it to moan in pleasure. “He will, though...if he keeps trying to meddle with Mabon…” It licked the blood from its claw, laughing. Then, quick as a flash, the creature was next to Dean, claw outstretched.

Sam screamed.  
~*~

John looked thoughtfully at his sons, Sam curled up with his head propped up on Dean’s lap while his brother ran a hand through his hair. The younger boy seemed to have finally fallen back to sleep. Dean’s hand never ceased in its soothing, despite the fact that it’d been moving for close to two hours already. He’d seen Dean’s care of the boy over the years - he’d almost always taken on a secondary parent role, fiercely protective - but this was new. The way his fingers danced over his brother’s scalp was past brotherly; it was almost intimate.

That’s ridiculous, he thought, frowning. Dean’s just shaken up. And Sam didn’t calm easily…. He shuddered at the memory of hearing his youngest child’s screams and seeing his pale, terrified face. He took a long draw from his whiskey bottle.

At the time, John hadn’t had time to really be anything but alert and ready for action. But, the sun was coming up, washing the room in an orange tint, and with the daylight and the story his son had told him? He had to admit that he was more than a little worried about the boy. He also suspected something else was going on - witchcraft or maybe possession?

The dream had been hyper-realistic, Sam had said. He’d recalled the dream effortlessly, as if all of it had happened, even going to far as to tug up John’s shirt to see his chest underneath. He had clung to Dean as he waited for John to search the room thoroughly. He demanded another line of salt be added to all of the windows and doors, all the while looking sicker than he’d ever looked. Then, as his body had calmed down and one arm wound around Dean’s waist, he’d sketched the symbol he’d seen on John’s chest.

John held the paper in his hand now. The symbol was the same as those carved into the bodies of the three people found in the woods recently. The description of the creature matched what he’d been hunting - a beautiful woman with red hair and glowing eyes. The sharp claws, though, were a new development. He hadn’t been able to figure out what had made the symbols, but now….

“Dean,” he said, low so not to disturb Sam. As it was, the boy whimpered in his sleep and clutched at his older brother’s torso more tightly. Dean’s hand faltered, then continued its stroking.

“Yeah?”

“Gonna go make a few calls. Something about this seems strange. Sam shouldn’t have known any of this and I’m not sure that it was a dream. Stay here until he wakes up.”

“Want me to wake him for school? He’s got assignments to turn in and he’ll be pissed if we don’t give him the chance to go in if he’s up for it.”

John sighed. “Wake him in time to get ready and see how he feels.” He took another swig of whiskey. “Depending on what I find out, I’ll be back after dark.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll take care of Sammy.”  
~*~

Dean must have fallen back to sleep himself when he was jolted awake by the buzzing of the alarm clock. He looked down at his brother, still tucked against his body. Carefully he reached over and pressed the button to shut off the loud noise, then took a moment to actually look at Sam.

Sometimes, when he would come in late from a date or a hunt, Dean would catch this sight of Sam. Unruly hair damp around the edges from sweat and messy from slumber. Pink lips open slightly. Long, coltish limbs askew, yet graceful against the bedding. Chest rising and falling rhythmically. At times, Dean had felt his own breath catch with the view. He was blown away at the innocence and peace Sam alluded. He couldn’t believe how beautiful his baby brother had grown so far.

More than once, Dean had felt his body warming in a flush as he looked at his brother. This time was no different. In fact, he felt his body responding to the closeness of their bodies within the bed; so much closer than they normally ended up. True, they shared a bed for years and sometimes still did, but today, Sam’s entire form was pressed against Dean’s side. He could feel the curve of his shoulder against his ribs and the bow of his back under his hand. Sam’s breath puffed out onto Dean’s thin t-shirt. It was an intimacy that he wasn’t privy to with the girls he slept with and it sent a shiver through to his soul.

Sam groaned in his sleep, clutching tightly to Dean’s midsection. Dean grit his teeth and pulled his hips back, willing his body not to respond to the sounds and movement of his brother’s form. It was wrong to think these things of his brother - especially when Sam was only 12. It was evil to let the physical closeness invade him like this, to let his thoughts cross to dirty. He bit the inside of his cheek and thought about vampires and demons and werewolves and Dad….

Once Sam was still and snoring lightly again, he slid out from underneath his arm and waited patiently to see if he’d rouse. Thankfully, he didn’t, so Dean tugged on his shoes and jacket and stepped outside. He kept the door open slightly, in case Sammy did wake. He went through the motions of lighting a cigarette, then let his body relax into the sensation of the warm smoke flowing through his lungs.

The creature Sam had described...it was uncanny the accuracy to what their dad was hunting. The symbol? Something that he’d seen firsthand carved into the bodies of those found in the woods around town. And the way their dad had nearly panicked along with Sam? That was downright petrifying.

He choked on the lungful of smoke when the phone inside the hotel rang out sharply. He tossed the butt on the ground and raced inside; too late to stop it from jolting his brother from slumber.

“Shit, sorry, Sammy.” He cupped a hand on his brother’s cheek as he reached for the phone with the other. “It’s alright. I got you.” He felt Sam instantly begin to calm and he smiled softly.

Into the phone, he said, “Yeah?”

“Dean?”

“Dad?”

“I got us another room at the Starlight on the other side of town. Start packing up - the job’ll be done tonight.” His voice softened, “Sam doin’ alright?”

“He’s been sleeping...phone woke him up. Haven’t had time to ask him if he was going to school or not yet.”

Beside him, Sam huffed a breath. He watched as his brother stretched and yawned, rubbing a fist over his eyes. It made him look incredibly young. Dean flushed red with shame at the thoughts he’d had about him earlier. He coughed and scooted over, giving Sam some more space on the bed.

John hummed. “It’s probably better if he goes to school while you get the room packed up. I need you to search for a hex bag while you’re working on that. Best if he didn’t know you were looking for it.”

“So you think it’s….”

“Witch related. Some idiots around town have summoned an autumn nymph and then corrupted her. They probably thought that they could steal some of her power, but here soon, they won’t need to worry about trying to corrupt her. She’ll start killing people on her own. Maybe she’s not exactly targeting us, but to be on the safe side, I need you to keep an eye on Sam. The room at the other hotel is under the third name from the top of page 64 in the phone book in the drawer. Paid up. Make sure Sam gets to school safely and make sure you’re there to pick him up. No need for him to be alone. I’m still not sure how or why he could see her in his dream, but that’s a secondary worry at this point. Hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be back when it’s done. If I’m not back by ten tomorrow morning, call Bobby. He’ll be on his way. You find a hex bag in the room? Burn it.”

Dean frowned at the phone, which had gone dead. “Time for school, Sammy. I’ll walk with ya.”

“You don’t have to. I’m good.” Dean must have pulled a face because Sam rolled his eyes. “It was just a dream, Dean. Dad said so himself. A stupid baby dream that I freaked out about. I can get myself to school.”

Dean sighed. “Humor me.”

“Dad told you to, huh?”

“Caught me. Now get in the bathroom and brush your teeth - your mouth smells like something died in it.”

“Well,” Sam said over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom, “at least I don’t smell like the bottom of an ashtray.”

Dean scoffed. He pulled the covers up on the bed, not being able to stand leaving the room untidy, even with maid service. As he adjusted the pillow, the vial of holy water rolled onto the floor and rested against his foot. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands thoughtfully. Dean tucked the vial into his pocket quickly as the water turned off in the bathroom.

When Sam emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he began to get dressed. “Hey, Dean? You think that Mr. Novak might have some ideas about these demons? I mean, he’s studying to be a priest, so…”

“Don’t,” Dean began, fierceness in his eyes, “don’t even think about that, Sammy. Priests can’t help us. They know fuck-all about real demons. And some guy who’s studying to be a priest sure as hell can’t help us. Honestly, God can’t even help us. He made these damn things and now we’re stuck cleaning up His mess. Dad and I will take care of it. Of you.”

“But Jimmy’s been really helpful with my questions so far….and we get help from Father Jim all the time. He keeps his salt lines down just like us.”

“He’s not the same. He's a hunter, like us. And when did you get on a first name basis with this guy from the woods? I don't like it.”

“But…”

“No. You keep Mr. Novak out of this. And stay away from him.”

Sam watched as Dean stomped out of the motel room and angrily shoved a cigarette into his mouth. He pulled a clean shirt over his body and sighed. Then, as a last second idea struck him, he stuffed the sketches of the demon he’d seen in his dream last night into his backpack. He slid a hand under his pillow for the holy water, but frowned when he didn't find it. Casting a perfunctory look under the bed and the covers, he hummed in frustration. Shrugging, he figured it would turn up, and headed out the door.

~*~  
“I’ll pick you up after school, okay?”

“I can walk. I’ll meet you by that weird tree out front of the high school.”

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and frowned. “Yeah, but I’ve got stuff I’ve gotta do for Dad, so I’m not gonna be there.”

Sam’s face scrunched up in anger. “We’re leaving?”

“No. Moving across town. Don’t mention it to anyone, got it?”

“Why? That was just a dream, Dean.”

“Not the point. Dad wants us to move? We move.” He reached over and ruffled Sam’s shaggy hair. “Now go dazzle them with that insane book report.”

“Fine.” Sam headed into the school, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

Dean watched the milling of the middle schoolers around the grassy front yard of the school, only turning to leave once the bell had rung. Then, he retreated back down the road towards their motel.

Behind him, Sam slunk out of the school’s side entrance, eyes peeking out from under the fringe of bangs on his forehead. He cast a few quick glances in either direction, then took off running in the direction of the woods.

~*~  
“Do you believe in demons?”  
Sam’s voice was a hushed whisper in the dimness of the church, but Jimmy’s heart sped up as if the child had screamed it from the rafters. He wiped his now sweaty palms on his slacks and stood up from where he’d been polishing the floors.  
“Demons?” The boy nodded, eyes solemn and mouth drawn tight. The seminarian regarded him carefully. “I’m not sure how Father Halloway would talk to you about this, so you’ll have to settle for my own opinion.”  
“Based on your studies, right?”  
“Of course. But remember, I’m not a priest yet. I’m just learning.”  
“I know.”

Jimmy frowned and studied his watch. “Speaking of learning, aren’t you supposed to be in school? It’s ten in the morning.”

The apples of Sam’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t back down from the question. “Teacher in-service. No school today.”

One of Jimmy’s eyebrows cocked up, puzzled. “On a Wednesday.”

Sam huffed a breath, small hands clenching angrily at his sides. “My dad doesn’t believe in church or God or any of that. Neither does Dean. Last night I had a wicked nightmare - something that I’m pretty sure was a demon or an entity or something. They’re acting like I’m crazy.” He gulped in a deep breath, eyes wild. “I have questions and you’ve been helpful and nice and nobody else will talk to me about this stuff. And I’m pretty sure that I can’t possibly write another essay about The Lord of the Flies without a teacher wondering if I’m copying someone because no kid my age should have one that polished. I’ve written it four times.” In a small voice, looking up through his bangs, he said, “Please?”

“Okay.” Jimmy took a slow breath, then cleared his throat. “I believe there are what people may call demons to justify behaviors that they feel shame for. For example, if a man has been unfaithful to his wife, he might call the woman he had an affair with a demon. Or, if there is an unexplained, strange occurrence that has a negative connotation? That may also be blamed on demons. Like these murders….”

The boy seemed to mull over this information with great care, frown deepening on his face. “But not actual monsters, right?”

“Monsters…?”

“You know. Like vampires and ghouls and shifters and stuff like that?”

“Like Dracula?” Jimmy’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “Frankenstein? The Boogeyman? I’m fairly certain those are ideas made up for movies and books.”

Sam frowned. “Frankenstein wasn’t the monster. He was the doctor.” He pulled the book bag from his shoulders, digging inside until he retrieved a rumpled page from the bottom. He smoothed it out on the nearest pew before presenting it to Jimmy. “I’m talking about these.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, mouth dropping open. “Where….where did you get this?”

“It’s mine. I drew these.”

“But this,” Jimmy indicated the symbol scrawled near a corner, “where have you seen this?”

Sam shrugged. “My dream last night. That was carved in my dad’s chest. By this.” He pointed to the crude drawing of a woman with claws.

“Do you know what it represents?” When the boy shook his head, he continued, “it’s a symbol in the Wiccan religion. But the Wiccan religion is peaceful…”

“That thing in my dream was anything but peaceful.”

Jimmy nodded. “Are all of these drawn from your dreams?”

“No.”

“Your imagination?”

“No.”

“Where, then, Sam?”

“Some are from my dad’s journal. Some are from things I’ve seen.” Sam swallowed. “Dad and Dean are superheroes, Mr. Novak. They save people from these things.”

“Your father’s not a salesman, then?”

“Hunter.”

Jimmy nodded. “And these things you believe you’ve seen? These are real? Your father and your brother hunt them?”

“Yes.” Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “We’re here to help with the people who’ve gone missing. Who’ve died. In fact, holy water can help identify demons. And salt lines can keep them out of your house.”

Jimmy put the paper down, hands shaking slightly. “Sam, I don’t know what-”

“I just need to know...if God is truly here to help people in need….why does he send these things here? Why do they hurt people? And why does my family have to be the ones to save people? Why can’t we just be normal?”

The seminarian sucked in a deep breath. “God gives us tests, to make us stronger. To increase our faith in Him. He’s not an uncaring God, Sam. And he doesn’t have monsters as those you are describing sent to kill us. We are His creations and He loves us all.” He gestured to the paper on the pew, not wanting to look it or Sam equally. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m afraid that I can’t help you. And for the record, as a soon-to-be man of the cloth? Holy water doesn't have magical powers and neither does salt. The people with the ability to solve cases like these are the police. Maybe we should call them and show them your notes. Your father’s notes….”

The boy stood still for a long moment, scarcely breathing. Jimmy felt the tension in both their bodies, heavy in the air of the church. Then, as if a something had suddenly switched inside him, Sam surged forward and snatched the paper up. He stuffed it in his backpack fiercely. Tears were starting to stream down his face, Jimmy noticed, as the boy headed for the door. HIs chest was heaving and his back was ramrod straight. He turned at the entrance to the church, fury in his eyes.

“Dean kept telling me not to talk to you. That you would try to tell me lies to keep me from believing the truth. And you almost had me, Mr. Novak. I almost had your blind faith in your God. But I’m right. People have been dying in this town from a demon and we’re going to save the rest of you.”

And just as quickly as he’d come, Sam was gone.  
~*~  
“Mr. Novak.”

Jimmy looked up at the voice at the door of the sacristy, where he was rummaging through a box of tithing envelopes. A teenager, wearing a thick leather jacket and walking a cocktail sure-footed saunter, approached him, stopping not a foot away. He looked pretty for a boy, bowed lips and thick eyelashes, but hardened and older than his years. He looked like a man who'd seen too much, stuffed inside the body of a young model. The seminarian pulled himself up, feeling his heartbeat speed up and his breath catch. “Can I help you?”

“What did you say to Sam?”

“Pardon?”

“Sam. Little guy, about this high, floppy hair and puppy eyes? Dimples. Smart..just like his mouth some days.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I didn’t-”

The boy’s hand flew out, striking the wall that Jimmy hadn't realized he'd backed into. Anger flashed in green eyes. Jimmy flinched.

“He wouldn't tell me what was wrong when he got home. Wouldn't tell me he'd been crying. But my brother's a rotten liar and I knew the second he walked in. I know him like the back of my hand.”

“Dean?”

The boy leaned forward, close enough that Jimmy could see flecks of gold in his eyes. “Yeah. Sammy’s my responsibility and he was upset….after ditching school and coming here. I know you're smart enough not to have touched a hair on his head, but I don't think you're quite smart enough to keep your Bible thumping bullshit to yourself.” When Jimmy didn't answer, he slapped the wall again, rattling the tiny wooden cross hanging there. “What did you say to him?”

“Well talked about his drawings,” Jimmy stammered, feeling his face heat up with panic. “He asked about God and monsters. He told me crazy things - about holy water and salt and hunting-”

Dean stepped back, nearly reeling as if Jimmy had struck him. “What else?”

“I told him that those things weren't magical; that the police could help with the murders and that he needed to show them his drawings and your father’s notes…”

Suddenly, Dean was on him, pressing him back into the wall with hands clenched into fists holding him steady at the shoulders. “I'm going to say this one time: leave Sammy alone. This job our dad is working is almost done. But since Sam likes a good debate, he'll keep coming back out here and listening to your plainclothes bullshit about what you think is real. But if you don't send him packing next time he comes here, I will personally make sure you meet a monster face to face.”

He let go of Jimmy, condescendingly smoothing down his shirt where he'd held it. He backed away, dangerous glare still poised on him.

Once Dean had turned at the door, Jimmy found his voice. “You're doing him a disservice by not allowing him to have faith.”

Dean’s jaw twitched. “He does have faith. Just not in your God.”

For minutes after the boy had left, Jimmy stood stock still, waiting for him to return and kill him. Anxiety pooled in his stomach and made him nauseous. Eventually, he gathered the capacity to push away from the wall and fall to his knees. He prayed for a long time for those boys and for his own safety.

Mostly, he prayed that the angels would watch over him until the Winchesters were gone….for good.

~*~

It didn’t take but a few hours for Jimmy to realize that Sam’s family was in the wind. Both boys had cut classes that day, neither schools even thinking twice about it. Dean’s attendance was spotty at best anyway, said the secretary at the high school. Sam’s teachers had wondered briefly, but hadn’t investigated further since he didn’t cause much trouble and they believed he was ill.

He put in a call to Father Halloway, not giving details about Dean’s visit, but telling the jest of the conversation to him. The old man had sighed and hummed in agreement while he regaled the tale. Eventually, the priest had asked Jimmy to think hard about his course of action. That whatever he did next would be important to his character as a future man of the cloth.

His discussion with Father Halloway confirmed what he thought might be his next move. And although the elderly priest was due back next week, he urged Jimmy to make the phone call - not to wait. He’d been right that the symbol was Wiccan, but Father Halloway had reminded him that while Wiccans were a peaceful religious group, there were others who would worship the Devil himself using the same symbols. The fact that Sam Winchester’s family was directly linked to the symbol did not bode well. He’d spent some time praying the rosary and asking for answers, but, as usual, God was silent. With resolve, he hauled himself back into the office and went to the phone. His hand wavered as he punched in the numbers.

“Hello? Sequoyah County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Yes, this is Jimmy Novak, at St. Michael’s? I’m calling on behalf of a child in danger. His name is Sam Winchester….and he seems to have been brainwashed, or worse. And as much as it pains me to think it, his father may have information regarding these murders.”

His hand tightened on the receiver as he listened to the police officer on the other end. His face paled and he chewed at his bottom lip with worry. He listened for a long time, then sighed.

“So you're saying that the boy that I’ve been talking with for weeks just doesn't exist? No brother? Father? No one by that name anywhere at all?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No….I don't need to make a statement. I...I'm fine. Maybe overtired. Probably seeing things where there really isn't anything at all. Yes. Father Holloway will be back a week from tomorrow. I’ll make sure he stops by to visit your aunt.”

When he hung up the phone, he staggered out into the sanctuary and fell to his knees. He clenched the beads of his rosary to tightly that his fingers ached. He continued to pray.

-*-

Jimmy stared down at the newspaper headline the day his mentor was due back and frowned. Satanic Altar Remains Found in Woods; Mayor Suspects Cult Involvement in Recent Murders

He'd chatted with numerous people of Sallisaw over the past week, trying to dig up clues to where Sam and his family had gone. He'd turned up nothing but passing rumors of the drifters. Some thought they'd mentioned going east. Some said back to South Dakota. Others just knew the black hulk of a car they drove was gone and the roads were quieter without it. He had also discovered that no one else found it strange for a man and two young boys would travel as they did. In fact, most of those he spoke to barely remembered the trio. Jill from the diner had some scandalous things to say of the father, but Jimmy didn't pay her much mind because she was one who craved the attention of men all over town.

He read down the article, looking for more information regarding the killings. Autumn Solstice. Mabon. Dark church beliefs. People believing in ritual sacrifice. A symbol that continued to surface found on the remains of the supposed altar. A photo was to be found on an inside page, so he flipped the paper open to see. Once there, he sucked his breath in sharply.

The symbol, carved into wood and cracked through the center, stood out dark in contrast to the pale altar. The symbol that had been carved into bodies.

The symbol Sam Winchester had sketched and shown him.

It would be months before he stopped thinking about the boy with the haunting doodles and the puppy dog eyes. It would be years before he saw him again. But it would be sooner when he would see the symbol again…


	2. Summer 1996

  
  
~*~SUMMER 1996~*~  
  
“Sammy…”  
  
Dean’s whisper trickled into Sam’s dream like early morning fog, slow and soft - enough that Sam thought it was part of the dream itself. He was wandering the shelves of an ornate library, breathing in the scents of leather-bound books and mustiness. His arm was curled around an especially long, thin volume - one that Dream Sam seemed to really be excited about. He turned to see if he could find Dean, to show him the book, but to no avail.  
  
He felt himself smiling as his brother repeated the call to him, this time rousing him into the lightest form of slumber. The dream began to slip away, his body now responding to the stiff, flat pillow of the motel under his arm. He rolled onto his side, towards the sound, and hummed with pleasure. As much as he had been enjoying the library, the comfortable sound of Dean’s voice was luring him without much resistance. He recognized the leather scent now to be more familiar - leather jacket, home. He breathed in deeply and exhaled smoothly, happy. He was startled from the cozy feeling when Dean’s fingers curled in his hair and tugged sharply.  
  
“Ow! What???”  
  
“Shhhh,” Dean whispered, hand slipping away. He was squatting next to the double bed, eyes twinkling with mischief and one thick finger pressed up against full lips. “Don’t want to wake Dad, right?”  
  
“What’s the matter?” Sam frowned, rubbing over the sore spot on his scalp, blinking grumpily into the darkness. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him that it was near midnight. A hunter’s assessment of the hotel room told him that they weren’t in any danger and that John was passed out in what appeared to be a heavy sleep, aided with a bottle of whiskey.  
  
“Nothin’s the matter, brat. Gotta surprise for you, though.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Come on. Up. Find your sneakers and wear pants. Its chilly outside for it being July. Meet you outside in five.”  
  
With that, Dean was gone, a brief rectangle of light and soft snick of the door opening and closing the only indication he wasn’t still sitting on the dingy carpet. Sam yawned, still massaging the tingly sensation away from his head where he was sure his brother had ripped a few strands of hair out. Quickly, he gathered the jeans and boots from yesterday off the floor and yanked them on. He wasn’t quite as stealthy as Dean, but the rumbling snores that didn’t falter told him that his father would be completely oblivious for hours.  
  
His face split with a wide grin as he saw Dean stationed in front of the Impala, ready to push. “Get in and kick her to neutral. We’ll get her out to the road and start ‘er up.”  
  
Sam slipped inside, careful not to let the door hinges squeak very loudly, then helped his brother steer the silent car down to the street. Adrenaline pumped through his veins.  
  
Once Dean had jumped inside, pushing him to the passenger seat, he gestured to the back. “Got a surprise in the trunk for you, Sammy.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“What part of surprise don’t you understand, dweeb?” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair and laughed, turning the key in the ignition and gleefully rubbing his hands as Baby purred to life. “We gotta head out of town before I can let you see it, though.”  
  
Sam smiled over at his brother. “Can I get a hint?”  
  
“Nope. But in the spirit of twenty questions, which I’m not playing, it’s bigger than a breadbox.”  
  
Dean maneuvered the car onto the highway, heading west. They rode along in comfortable silence for a while before Sam noticed the sprays of colorful lights in the sky. He watched them with wonder, unaware of this brother casting fond looks in his direction. “Can we stop somewhere and watch the fireworks for a bit, Dean? Please?”  
  
“I’ll do you one better little brother…”  
~*~  
“Are we there yet?”  
  
“Impatient much?”  
  
Sam wiggled in his seat. “It’s not that….I just really need to pee.”  
  
Dean laughed. “Almost. Just a few more minutes.” He scanned the dark road, happy that about ten miles back it had turned into a county dirt road. This meant it was less travelled and less likely to be populated by sheriff deputies. He coasted past thick trees, waiting to find the perfect spot. And then, up a hill and around a bend, he saw it.  
  
A clearing.  
  
Trees surrounded the area, but overall it was probably close to thirty acres of undisturbed property. “Here,” he said, pulling the car to the shoulder. “See? Told you we were close.”  
  
Sammy flung himself out of the car and rushed towards the trees, hand holding his zipper tightly. Dean chuckled and he went around to the trunk to open it. Inside, tucked under a green army blanket, was a crate full of fireworks he’d snatched from a tent at the edge of town. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when he saw it.  
  
Sam was still tucking himself in as he came closer, squinting his eyes in the dark. Luckily the moon was bright enough that when Dean pulled back the blanket, Sam whooped in glee. “Fireworks?”  
  
Yeah, his face was totally worth it….  
  
~*~  
  
They’d spent forty-five minutes shooting off Roman Candles, Black Cats, Fountains, and UFO shaped discs. They’d laughed and ran through the sparks together, playing an impromptu and probably dangerous game of Roman Candle war while the moon shone on. Sam’s face had never looked so happy, so free. Dean felt a stab of despair at that thought, but pushed it down when Sam had gripped him in a bear hug.  
  
“Dad would never let us do anything like this. This is great. Thanks, Dean.”  
  
Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, warmth filling his soul. “Sure, Sammy.” He squeezed him tighter and looked down into his eyes. “Ready for the finale?”  
  
Sam grinned. “Yeah!” He took off, grabbing the lighter out of Dean’s hand as he ran towards the box of fireworks in the center of the field. He began pulling and twisting the fuses of the final group of fireworks together. Looking back at his brother, he called out, “Fire in the hole!” Then, he lit the giant tangle of strings.  
  
Within seconds, the sky was lit up with dozens of fireworks. Sparks flew in every direction: red, blue, yellow, white, green, purple, pink, orange…. Dean watched as Sam ducked under the shower and danced around, laughing and carefree. He finally resembled a kid of twelve and Dean felt a pang of hurt at that. Not only were he and their father keeping Sam from being a normal kid, but they were making him shoulder a life he never signed up for. Tears sprang up in his eyes when he also thought about the fact that he also had never had a chance to be a true kid with the life they led – that it was rare moments like this that reminded him that he didn’t have to save the world as a child. He shouldn’t even have to avenge his mother’s murder. It wasn’t fair.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he’d missed the fact that Sam was standing in front of him, eyes full of concern. Dean was furious with himself for taking away that brief moment of joy from his brother. He dashed a hand against his own eyes to wipe away the wetness, then forced a smile.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“I’m fine, kiddo.”  
  
Sam’s mouth turned downward. “Don’t call me that.” He shoved his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie sullenly and turned away. “I’m not a baby.”  
  
Dean put a hand on his shoulder, turning him back around. “I know. Sorry.” He curled his arms around Sam and tugged him in. He looked up at the sky, which was slowly starting to become dark again; the fireworks were dying down. He breathed in the smell of Sam’s shampoo, fruity and sweet. He smiled against his hair. “It’s just a habit, Sammy.”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Fine. Sam.” He chuckled. “I swear, though, you getting hormones makes you more like a girl every day.”  
  
Sam stiffened in his arms, then he was being pushed roughly away. “You….you….dick,” he hissed, pout firmly in place. “Let’s just go back to the motel.” He began stomping back to the Impala.  
  
Dean rushed to catch up. “No, wait! Sam…that’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re so moody lately. And prissy about your clothes and deodorant and music….I’m not ready for all this teenage drama. Can’t you just be a kid for a little bit longer? What’s wrong with that?”  
  
Sam ignored him and wrenched the door open, flinging himself into the seat and slamming the door shut. He slid down into the seat so Dean could see just the top of his head and angry eyebrows from the window. Dean sighed and slid into the driver’s seat. They sat there for a few minutes in tense silence, light popping noises still coming from the box of fireworks in the field. Finally, Dean dug the keys out of his pocket and put them in the ignition, starting the car with a satisfying rumble.  
  
“I’m not a girl.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I hate it when you treat me like a kid. I’m almost thirteen, Dean.”  
  
“Only a couple weeks. I know.”  
  
Sam huffed a breath. “You’re not so much older than me, you know. You act like you’re this big, bad adult. You cuss. You smoke. You watch dirty movies when Dad’s gone and you think I’m asleep.”  
  
Dean blanched. “Uh…”  
  
“You go out with these girls….and I know what you’re doing when you’re seeing them. I’m not stupid.”  
  
“Sam-“  
  
“I’m almost a teenager, too, Dean. And you’re not that much older than me.”  
  
“No, but-“  
  
Sam whirled around, frown still firmly in place. “When you were thirteen, Dean, what was it like? Do you even remember?”  
  
“Yeah,” he exhaled, staring out at the smoldering crate of fireworks and hanging onto the steering wheel for support. “Everything was weird. My body was doing weird stuff and Dad wouldn’t talk to me about it. Girls at school were weird. Hell, guys at school were weird. The locker room was insane – I always wondered if people thought I was gay, even if I was just changing and looking at the floor. And it was like I always felt like I smelled funny or wasn’t wearing the right thing or had more pimples than other kids.” He swallowed, thinking it all over. “Thank God we didn’t stay anywhere too long…dealing with cliques was hard enough as the new kid. But I could usually just stay to myself and hope that we’d leave soon.” He sighed, looking back over at Sam. “And I took care of you.”  
  
Sam sighed. “Yeah, well Dad sucks.”  
  
Dean laughed. “Yeah, he does.”  
  
After a moment, Sam turned to him, straightening up in his seat more. “Did you ever think you were?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Gay.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat. “Puberty screws with your brain, Sam. Makes you think everyone and everything is on the earth for the sole purpose of destroying you through your dick.” He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, uncomfortable. “But I don’t think I’m gay. Definitely into girls.”  
  
“Oh.” Sam looked out his window.  
  
“It’s okay if you are.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Sam. Look at me.”  
  
“Let’s just go.”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Is it okay….to maybe like both?” His voice was small and quiet – Dean almost didn’t hear him at all. His breath fogged the window momentarily. His body was curling in on itself.  
  
Dean reached a hand out and touched the small of his brother’s back, tenderly. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay, Sammy.”  
  
“Can you not tell Dad?”  
  
“Dude. He doesn’t need to know shit.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Dean saw a lone tear slide down Sam’s cheek and his heart broke. “Come ‘ere.” He took the boy into his arms as best he could inside the car and hummed into his hair. “Don’t cry, Sammy. Shhhhhh….” He rubbed circles on his back. “You don’t have to worry about it right now anyway. Unless….unless there’s a guy you’re interested in in particular?” When Sam’s body went rigid, he forced his face up so he could see his eyes. “That it?”  
  
Sam let out a shaky breath. “Not….not really. I mean…I’m just…it’s so confusing…”  
  
Dean smiled softly down at him. The moonlight was dancing over Sam’s face, casting shadows and highlighting his cheekbones, his lips, his eyelashes…. “Sometimes I like guys,” he whispered, glad that the darkness hid his blush.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam’s eyes were full of trust and hope.  
  
“Yeah. So it’s okay.”  
  
Sam smiled, dimples flashing briefly. Then, he pressed closer to Dean. “Thanks, Dean.” He snuggled down into the hollow of Dean’s neck, inhaling deeply.  
  
Dean felt his heart swell and he pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “No problem, Sammy. Sorry I treat you like a kid. I just want you to have the chance to be one. I didn’t get the opportunity.”  
  
Suddenly, a bright flash and loud boom filled the field. Sparks exploded across the grass and trees. Both boys scrambled up and gaped at the fire. It caught quickly, sending smoke and flames in both directions. A glowing ball of fire struck the Impala and it sent Dean into action.  
  
“Shit!” He slammed the car into gear and backed up hastily. “SHIT!”  
  
“Was that a firework?”  
  
“Must’ve been a crappy one.”  
  
“Look…”  
  
Dean looked where Sam was pointing at the field. Low hanging limbs of trees were catching on fire. Smoke was curling up from the box of fireworks they’d left. The grass was aflame – large patches burned brightly with fire. “Shit,” he said again. He put the car into gear and peeled out, sending gravel in all directions. “We get to a rest stop, we call it in. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “There weren’t any houses nearby, were there?”  
  
“Don’t think so. We’re about 40 minutes west of the hotel.”  
  
“Think we’re even still in Missouri?”  
  
“We passed the state line…so no. I think we’re in Oklahoma.” Dean pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal. “We get to a gas station, rest stop, fuck…a farm house, we stop and call it in.”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam looked back down the road behind them, but all he could see was a faint glowing light in the darkness.  
  
Later that evening, as he lay in bed next to Dean, thinking about his brother’s panicked voice on the pay phone as he called in the fire, Sam thought about the last time they were in Oklahoma. Last fall. The nymph. Mr. Novak.  
  
He remembered feeling relief when they’d left the state for a new hunt. Remembered talking with Pastor Jim in the spring. Remembered the feeling of rightness once he’d been assured that not all people were ready to see the whole world – especially those who had a strong faith in something else. Remembered Dean telling him that he’d visited Mr. Novak before they’d left Sallisaw in the dust.  
  
He scooted closer to his brother, beautiful in sleep, and tugged him closer. Maybe he’d grow out of this. Needing this closeness. Craving Dean’s touch and attention. But for now, he’d take it as it came. He snuggled into the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder and fell into slumber.  
  
All in all, it had been a pretty decent Fourth of July.  
  
~*~  
It wasn't the smoke that awoke him. It was the heat.  
  
Jimmy had been organizing files in the small office of the church, leafing through pages and pages of financial sludge and making no headway. Father Halloway had insisted that he begin to take over some of the billing, as experience for his own parish someday. He'd worked for hours, double checking the elderly priest’s ledgers and finding nothing but meticulous bookkeeping.  
  
And yet, the bills for the past two months had become increasingly large, prompting the hunt for anything amiss. The income of the church was dwindling as well. He needed to make a list of church families who were tithing regularly and send letters of encouragement and a plea for help.  
  
He must've fallen asleep somewhere after midnight, head pillowed by a short stack of paper. And even though it was the fourth of July, Jimmy was pleased to be away from the loud, booming explosions of fireworks in the town. Out in the woods, it was peaceful - albeit unpleasantly humid with summer.  
  
This heat, however, was stifling. It poked at his consciousness and begged him to awaken to investigate. He blinked and shifted, sending a few papers to the ground. When he realized that the air was painfully hot and nearly unbearable, he sat up and finally noticed the haze of smoke inside the office. He jerked to full alertness and without thinking, he flung open the door.  
  
Flames danced along the walls of the short hallway to the sanctuary, threatening to climb to the ceiling. The smoke was almost too thick to see through. Jimmy choked and flew backwards. His eyes watered and his throat stung. He shoved the door shut, then turned to the tiny window behind him, fingers scrabbling against the lock but failing to open it.  
  
I’ll break it and get free, he thought, looking around the room wildly for something to throw into the window. His eyes landed on the phone first. Without a second thought, he picked up the receiver and dialed 911.  
  
“911, what is your emergency?”  
  
“This is James Novak. There’s a fire at St. Michael’s Catholic Church. I’m….I’m inside the office, but the hallway is full of flames and smoke. My alternate method of escape is locked, but I have a plan for breaking the glass. I can’t stay inside much longer.” His body became wracked with a coughing fit. Around him, the smoke was getting thicker, the air hotter. Sweat began dripping down his forehead.  
  
“Okay, sir. There’s a rural fire department already dispatched to that area, but we’ll send more units. You’re close enough to Sallisaw that we’ll send a city unit as well. I urge you to get out of the building immediately.”  
  
“Thank you.” Jimmy disconnected with the dispatcher and picked up the chair he’d been sitting in. Heaving it as high as he could, he swung it at the window. Part of the glass shattered. He rushed forward, sucking in lungfuls of clean air. Distantly, he heard the sirens of a fire truck. He backed up and struck with the chair again, this time knocking nearly every piece of glass out of the frame.  
  
When he started to ready himself to climb through, however, he realized that it was much too small for his body to fit through. “Oh, no….oh, God,” he whined, panic setting in. He cast a glance at the door behind him, seeing how thick the smoke had become. “God, please….”  
  
Trembling, he made to turn the knob and hissed when his hand was met with heat. There was no other choice. He had to go through the flames. Dear God, if you’re listening, please. I’m scared.  
  
Almost instantly, a Bible verse came into his mind, as if in response to his plea. He cried out at the unfamiliar miracle and his eyes pricked with fresh tears. In these past years of study, he’d not once felt the presence of God, nor any sort of reflective response to his prayers. It caused his heart to soar and his faith strengthen ten-fold. He turned his face upwards and wept.  
  
Should you walk through fire, you will not suffer, and the flame will not burn you.  
  
Courage renewed, he bit down on the inside of his cheek, reached forward, and grabbed open the door. The pain was sharp, biting. He gasped at it, clutching his hand to his chest protectively. In front of him, the flames were on the walls and teasing at his feet.  
  
Jimmy could see a small area of space where the fire wasn’t as high, so he ducked down and began moving forward. He tried to run quickly, to avoid the stabbing pricks of pain with each lick of flame as he stepped, but the inability to see was hindering him. Luckily, the building was small enough that he had only the small sacristy to get through, and then the sanctuary.  
  
The sacristy was burning brighter, the vestments smoldering on their racks. Pages of song books and boxes of decorations for Advent sent up thick, dark columns of smoke and ash with their flames. Jimmy passed them with only a secondary glance, worried instead about the fire that threatened his pant legs. The soles of his shoes were melting; he felt the tacky slide with each step. The bottoms of his feet were hot.  
  
Breaking through the ornate folding door to the sanctuary, he gasped and coughed as he took in the sight. A gaping hole in the roof was getting larger, the edges glowing red through the smoke. The pews were engulfed. The small sectioned seating area for the confessional was ablaze and unrecognizable. From his vantage point, Jimmy couldn’t even make out the holy water font. A creak and a groan came from above, before a long beam crashed down on top of the nave, breaking two pews in front into two.  
  
Casting a glance at the altar, his heart ached. The wall behind it, where the handmade crucifix hung, was shimmering with heat. Small embers clung to Jesus’s face. The altar was crushed underneath a beam from above as well. Pops and crackles overpowered Jimmy’s ears. He wondered how soon the fire truck would come - how much of this they could save.  
  
He was jostled from his despair when a tongue of fire gripped his left pant leg, ripping into it and sending a flash of pain with it. Jimmy doubled over and swatted at it, trying to get it to go out. Beating with all his might with an open palm, he let adrenaline fuel him and eventually he felt the fire give way. The leg of his pants was gone, a scorched hole left up to his knee. Survival was strong, though. So, he panted and started again towards the door.  
  
As he stepped forward, he thought he heard a voice from behind him. The words were unintelligible; the voice male. But he turned instinctively towards it. There, he finally noticed the tabernacle - shiny against the dark of night and ash. Inside was where they kept the Holy Eucharist. All of the Blessed Host that the church had. He surged forward without more thought, intent to save it from the fire.  
  
He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that what he was doing was dangerous and perhaps life-threatening. But this compulsion, this duty, to save the Body of Christ was so ingrained that he doubted if he could have stopped himself even knowing that it was a mortal mistake. He ran across the flames underneath him, paying no mind to the holes being burned through the bottoms of his shoes, nor to the way did the flames caress his unprotected leg, leaving blisters in their wake.  
  
He reached the tabernacle more quickly than he imagined he could. Reaching out, he grasped it and pulled it up, off the table. Then, turning, he ran for the doors. He realized about ten steps in that the metal object in his hands was hot, burning into his flesh. He grit his teeth against the pain and ran faster.  
  
He could hear sirens; see faint flashes of lights ahead of him through the windows. He felt as if he were running through molasses in winter as time slowed down, pain searing through parts of his body with vengeance. He cried out, “Help!” hoping someone was close enough to hear him; close enough to save him.  
  
He reached the doors and flung his body against them, dropping out onto the grassy yard with a flop, screaming. His ears were ringing and voices seemed far away; flashing lights and shadows of figures coming his direction were hazy. He croaked for help one last time, hands still cradling the tabernacle, despite the pain - and then he passed out.  
  
~*~  
“Jimmy.”  
  
Father Halloway’s voice called to him softly and Jimmy fought against the heaviness of sleep to focus on the sound. He strained to open his eyes. Blotches of bright white light swam in and out of his vision as he blinked. Nothing was clear, however, and so he made to swipe at his eyes with a hand. Getting his hand to move, though? Far more difficult than opening his eyes.  
  
“Don’t try to move a lot, son,” the priest told him, still calm. “Doctor says you should worry about resting up before you start thrashing around.”  
  
“Whaaaa….” His eyes opened again, water stained ceiling tiles finally becoming clearer.  
  
“The church caught on fire, Jimmy. Do you remember the fire?”  
  
Flames. Smoke. Shattered window. Beams crashing to the floor. Running through sticky syrup. Holding onto a fireball. Crying out. An answer….  
  
He tried to speak, but his voice wasn’t cooperating. He rolled his head towards the sound of the priest’s voice. The elderly man came into view; white wisps of hair atop his head, black shirt and stark white collar, deep frown etched on his face. In his hand was the battered copy of his bible. It was closed, but a bright purple ribbon marked his spot. Jimmy could almost identify which book and chapter he’d been reading from; the familiarity of seeing the book constantly with the man gave Jimmy a sense of home and peace. Around him, the sterile, bleached interior of a hospital room. Jimmy realized he was cold. He began to shiver.  
  
“Rest, James,” the priest soothed. “You had a bit of a scare, but God has seen it fit for you to survive. Prayers have been answered.” He gestured at Jimmy’s body. “The doctors say that it will be a long road of recovery. Your strength and your faith will be tested, Jimmy. But you have the bravery to see it through.” He raised a small paper cup of water to Jimmy’s lips, pressing the straw through them. “Here. Drink. You must be parched, what with it being three days since you last drank anything.”  
  
Jimmy took a pull of the water, then began coughing.  
  
“Easy...don’t overdo it. Your body isn’t ready for much yet.”  
  
Jimmy started to raise his head, drunkenly and somewhat painfully. He assumed he was on pain medication that was causing his issues, but didn’t understand what Father Halloway was saying. He remembered the fire, but not much after reaching the outside of the building. Looking down at his body, his eyes widened.  
  
Both hands were bandaged thickly, so much that they barely resembled hands at all. Cords and wires zigzagged across his body and hooked into machines and monitors. The bedding that covered his lower half was tented near the end, where his feet were. He instinctively tried to move them off so he could see what was underneath, and then yelped at the pain trying to move his arm caused.  
  
“What….what’s wrong with my legs?” he rasped, eyes darting at the priest in panic.  
  
“The paramedics told us that since you were so far from the entrance of the church, that when you tried to run out of the building the fire burned through your shoes. Your pant legs were on fire when you collapsed in the yard, but you were unconscious and couldn’t put out the flames on your own. The fire fighters rushed to hose you off, but most of the damage wasn’t even caused by those flames.”  
  
“My leg was on fire earlier,” Jimmy croaked. “I remember…”  
  
Father Halloway nodded. “Yes. You’ve had some surgeries already, but I’m sure there will be more. Skin grafts. Reconstruction. They say you’ll heal, but probably with many scars. You were in ICU the first couple of nights. We thought you’d die. It’s a miracle that you’re even awake right now.”  
  
“My hands?”  
  
“The biggest miracle of all, Jimmy. What do you remember from the fire?”  
  
“Not much. Something hot in my hands….pain….light….”  
  
“The Eucharist, Jimmy. You pulled the tabernacle out of the fire right before the church collapsed.” Father Halloway gave him a small smile. “What a testament to your faith, to take that pain and agony to save the Blessed Host. God has favored you with your life, since you saved His precious Son’s body from the flames. You are truly doing God’s work here on earth.”  
  
~*~  
  
Should you walk through fire, you will not suffer, and the flame will not burn you.  
  
This would be the beginning of Jimmy’s separation from faith. This was the first time when he had a concrete doubt about God. It wouldn’t be the last doubt, but it was certainly the most vivid. His soul didn’t feel the elation that Father Halloway felt at his courageous feat. Of course, Father Halloway’s hands weren’t charbroiled and his legs were completely intact and unscarred.  
  
It would be months before Jimmy truly saw the effects of his martyrdom. He’d watched the bandages be stripped from him - blood, pain, agony every time - and reapplied with careful fingers. Fingers unmarked by fire. They’d tried to prepare him for what his scars would be like. They told him they’d be tender; the skin would be baby pink and sometimes feel stretched thin. They told him that through rehabilitation exercises, he’d regain full use of his hands in time.  
  
All of those things had stayed true.  
  
But Father Halloway urged him to continue praying, to continue studying for the priesthood. He was sure that this amount of faith was not to be taken lightly. That lesser priests would not have had the courage to take the Eucharist out of the fire at such a cost. That Jimmy was bound for greatness for sure. Jimmy had pressed on with his studies, needing something to cling to keep his mind occupied during the late hours at the hospital. But his prayers felt hollower, less genuine. He didn’t feel the pull towards the profession as he once had. In fact, he felt less like a human in all aspects - let alone a devout man. Father Halloway had faith that God was healing him in preparation to become one of the best priests in the land.  
  
But looking down at the shiny scar tissue on the palms of both hands now? One cross. One chalice and host. Each hand marred by the act of duty he’d charged into with such conviction. All Jimmy could see was an ugly reminder of his own blind trust in the Lord.  
  
God hadn’t saved him from the fire. He’d saved Himself.


	3. Fall 2006

~*~FALL 2006~*~  
Jimmy slid out from the small confessional, brushing away a piece of lint from his purple stole. He had had a small stream of people this afternoon for Reconciliation and some of the voices he hadn’t been able to recognize from the regulars that attended on Wednesdays. It was a sign that the church was stronger now than when he’d first come to Broken Bow nearly a decade ago. Or, it was a sign that the people of the town were starting to panic.

Three bodies in seven days. Each one bled out and left for dead in fields surrounding the city. Each one bearing the same symbol carved into their chest. 

Jimmy had only heard rumors and, while it wasn’t usually his place to even humor those who were circulating them, he had to admit that they were scaring him. He remembered. All those years ago in Sallisaw. Those people. That church in the woods. Father Halloway. Sam Winchester. 

The way the killings stopped as soon as that small family left the community. 

The way the youngest boy was delusional with fanciful ideations of demons and fairies within the woods. The drawings and stories he’d told him, while curiously asking questions about faith and God and angels….

He felt a cold shiver go up his neck at the memories and he shook his head to clear it as he walked back towards the sacristy behind the altar. He cast a glance in the direction of the tabernacle as he passed it, the feeling of dread becoming thicker. It was silly to assume that the child had had anything to do with any of it, or that his family did. Jimmy had stronger faith than that now. Father Halloway had seen him through the dark period of uncertainty that followed.   
He hung his vestments in the slender closets, applied a thin layer of lotion to his hands, and continued towards the rectory. He heard Belinda, the secretary, talking with someone at the desk; he peered around the corner to see whom she was speaking. Within moments, he was jerking back and sagging against the wall, willing his heart to slow.

The Winchesters were here. Ten years later, but there was no mistaking that’s who they were.

The men, one with floppy chestnut hair and deep dimples and one with deep green eyes and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow, stood at the desk. They wore the clergy shirts and collars, but Jimmy couldn’t mistake the familiarity of these men. Ten years hadn’t changed the older man much - hardened his jawline and given him a few light scars amongst his freckles maybe. But the younger man had changed immensely. Solidly built and incredibly tall, Jimmy found his heart breaking at the thought of the boy he’d once known spending these past ten years with his brother and father - possibly killing people across the country. 

And now they were here. At the source of more murders and specifically at his parish.

“We’d like to speak with the vicar, if that’s possible.”

“Yes, Father Smerick. I’m sure he’s going to be finished with Reconciliation soon. You and Father Destra can have a seat and I’ll go check on him.”

“Thank you.”

Jimmy’s heart sped up as he heard the conversation and Belinda’s soft-soled shoes coming closer. As she rounded the corner, she let out a squeak of surprise and dropped the notepad she’d been holding. “Oh! Father Novak. You scared the dickens out of me!”

“I apologize.” He bent down and gathered her notes for her. 

“Forgiven, of course,” she said, taking them from him. She smiled up at him. “There’s some visiting priests to see you in the rectory. Seems that they’ve got some questions about the incidents around town?”

“From which parish, did they say?”

“St. Michael’s in Sallisaw?” Her face scrunched up in confusion as she looked down at her notes. “Isn’t that where you did your internment? The tabernacle….”

Jimmy felt his face pale. He nodded, left thumb reflexively stroking across his right palm, over the thick cross scar there. “Perhaps they’ve got some information for me. Sallisaw saw a few interesting days when I was there. I’m sure Father Halloway kept some records of them….”

Belinda’s eyebrows scrunched up and her mouth turned down. “Father, these priests are extremely young. I’m surprised they’re even of age to serve.”

Jimmy squeezed her shoulder softly in reassurance. “Maybe they’re baby-faced, like I was when I took the vows.” He smiled at her, hoping that it reached his eyes. Inside, his stomach ached. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you.”

Jimmy sucked in a calming breath before striding forward. Scripture came into his mind without warning as he rounded the corner and the young men came into view. Be sober-minded. Be watchful. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. It sent a shiver through his body, recalling the last time he’d heard scripture within his head unbidden. He clenched his left hand – the one with the most substantial scarring – hard, feeling the bite of a decade old wound.

When the two men stood and acknowledged him, he saw the immediate recognition within their eyes. He bolstered his faith and stretched out his hand. “Welcome,” he said, voice somehow steady. “I’m Father Novak, the Vicar of Saint Francis. And I believe we’ve met before.”   
~*~  
“I spent a lot of years wondering about you, Sam Winchester,” Jimmy began, once the three of them were tucked into his small office. He clasped his hands together over the top of his desk. He ignored the throbbing from inside his palms that often came with too much strain. He smiled tightly at the men in front of him. “And it causes quite a few alarm bells to ring inside of me when I see you here. Now. With what’s going on.”

Sam shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “You remember the murders in Sallisaw.”

“I couldn’t forget those. Not with the information you and your brother brought to my attention.” The men exchanged glances. “The drawings. The stories about hunting. The holy water and salt as weapons?” He sighed. “It’s not often that a priest gets rattled.”

“You weren’t a priest then,” Dean said, an edge of hardness in his voice. Jimmy could see that time hadn’t softened the young man, nor given him peace. 

“True. And you aren’t priests now.”

Sam swallowed nervously. “How…”

Jimmy sighed. “I can’t imagine that the two of you would ever be able to accept the call to the priesthood. And especially since I know that you, Sam, are no more than 22 years old. About the age I was when we first met.”

Sam’s cheeks turned rosy. “Oh.”

Dean moved forward in his chair. “Fine. You caught us. But we’re here because of a life and death situation. The same thing is happening around your parish and we’re here to help.”   
“And why should I believe two men who wear the vestments in blasphemy? I find it odd that you come here and the murders begin. Is your father here, too? Perhaps testing his disguise as Bishop?”

Dean stood, fire in his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can try to deal with this problem on your own, but honestly, you’re out of your league here, Padre. And people are going to keep dying until whoever’s summoning this thing gets taken down. Believe what you want about us, but we are here to help. Come on, Sam.” Dean spun on his heel, not waiting to see if Sam was coming.

Sam stood up, more grace than he’d had ten years prior but still overly tall and lanky. “You know that people are dying, Father. You might not believe in the things I showed you back then, but you might want to open your eyes a bit this time around.” He dug in the leather shoulder bag he had slung around his body, then tossed a battered journal onto the desk. “I’ll be back for that in the morning. If you still think we aren’t here to help you, we’ll just leave you alone. But I think you’ll find our argument convincing.”

Jimmy watched the man walk down the hallway until he couldn’t see him anymore. He sat stock still in his chair, rubbing absently at his scars, for long minutes, purposely not looking at the notes before him. Belinda came in, asked if he was alright, then told him she was locking up and heading home for the night. Jimmy watched her leave, too. He waited until the church around him fell completely silent and the hallway before him was too dark to see into. He waited until the pulsing ache in his hands had become a painful roar. Then, he opened the book.   
~*~  
Sam Winchester, true to his word, was back at the rectory as soon as Belinda had unlocked the door. She guided him to Father Novak’s office and gasped, when she realized that the priest was already inside, apparently having stayed there all night. His eyes were red, his hair mussed, and his face pale. 

“Are you feeling alright, Father?”

“I’m fine, Belinda. Thank you.” He cleared his throat and stretched his neck from side to side. “I could use some water, though.”

“Sure.” She cast a worried glance at him before opening the door further. Sam stood in the hallway, towering over her short frame, unobtrusively. “One of the priests from yesterday is back to see you again. Want me to send him in?”

“Go ahead.” Jimmy waited until Belinda had brought him water and left before addressing the man before him. He slid the leather-bound book across his desk with a sigh. “Is this your father’s?”

“Was. He passed this July.”

“Something from in that book?”

“Car accident. Sort of.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was either him or Dean. He chose to go instead of Dean. Struck a deal with something in that book.”

“A demon.”

Sam nodded. “The one that murdered our mother.”

Jimmy frowned. “I’m not entirely sure that you didn’t just have me read an extremely elaborate work of fiction, Sam.”

"We wouldn't be here now."

“Unless you were behind the killings. You could be lying about everything. Demons, your parents, everything. You walk into my parish, dressed as priests. How am I supposed to trust you at all?”

Sam swallowed, pushing his chin forward in defiance. “I didn’t lie to you when I was younger and I’m not lying to you now. Not about this.”

Jimmy sighed. “I have no evidence of that, Sam. You’ve given me fairy tales and pencil sketches.”

“I’m asking you to trust us. We can help your people, once we find out who’s behind the summoning. I’m asking you to believe in something you’ve not seen, like you did all those years ago. I’m asking you to have faith.”

The scars on both palms throbbed. Jimmy rubbed at them absently. “Faith is something that I’ve struggled with for years, Sam. No thanks to you.”

“Not faith in your God, Mr. Novak. Faith in good over evil. Surely you can get behind that.”

~*~  
Several hours later, Jimmy found himself watching the brothers in action. He was safely tucked inside their obnoxiously loud and flashy car, peering through the back window and clutching his rosary in both hands. In the darkness, he could see the ethereal beauty of the autumn nymph and the witches controlling her, circling the brothers. Weapons were raised. They seemed to be talking, but it wouldn’t be long before it came to blows. Jimmy felt as if he was in a dream.

Moments later, one of the witches shrieked a command and the nymph extended her claws. One scraped along Dean’s shoulder, ripping his jacket. Dean hissed in pain. Sam countered with a whip of his wrist, sending salt raining down upon her. This time, the nymph hissed, backing away.

Sam and Dean moved almost as if dancing; so in tune with each other that they didn’t even use words to alert the other to dodge a blow or anticipate an attack. Sam produced an iron crowbar and thrust it in the direction of the nymph. He spoke to her in a strange foreign language, which caused her to scream and hold her ears. Dean advanced on the two witches opposite the nymph. When one started to speak, Sam paused and rattled off an impressive amount of Latin in her direction. Instantly, her voice stopped. Jimmy saw her hands scrabbling at her throat.

Her sister witch’s face went pale and she dropped to her knees. “Please,” she sobbed, hands up in surrender. “Don’t….”

Dean strode forward, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “What did you give him for her? What did you trade?”

“My soul….”

Dean grunted and tossed her backwards, causing her to land supine on the ground. She clapped her hands over her eyes and cried. “Stupid bitch,” Dean chastised. “Was it worth it? Was it?” He hauled himself up and faced the other witch, who was still desperately trying to speak. “And you? Same deal for you?” The woman nodded vigorously. Dean shook his head.

“We didn’t mean for people to die,” the witch on the ground hiccupped. 

“What exactly did you think would happen?” Dean demanded. “Unicorns and fucking rainbows?”

“She wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she responded, pointing at the nymph who was still slashing her claws at Sam. “She was supposed to help restore balance to the earth. To help the crops!”

“When you summoned her, you needed help, didn’t you? Someone to get her attention. Someone who could help you get her under your control.” The witch nodded. “Who? Who was it?”

“DEAN! LOOK OUT!” Jimmy called out, head thrust out from the open window of the Impala. He gestured wildly at the shadow behind the hunter. 

Dean spun around to see yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. He slid his pistol out from his waistband and held it steadily at the creature’s face. As it stepped forward, Jimmy could see that it wasn’t a creature – it was a man with glowing yellow eyes. His scars throbbed.

“Now, is that any way to treat the guy who saved your life, Dean?” the man crooned. He seemed unaffected by the fact that he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

“Yellow Eyes.”

Sam, still fighting the nymph, looked over his shoulder in panic. “Dean! No!”

“I’ve got it, Sammy.” Dean cocked the gun and smirked. “Where’s the Colt?”

“Safe.” The demon smiled back at Dean. “I see you’ve found my presents to you….and brought one in return. How thoughtful.” He looked toward the Impala, where Jimmy sunk down in the foot well in fear. 

“Leave him out of this.”

“Aw, but he’s so pretty,” the demon purred. “Although not as pure of heart as I like my priests.”

“Did you help these two summon the nymph?”

“They had such convincing stories. Farms in despair, families in need. The drought has been hell on these people, Dean.” He titled his head towards Sam’s battle and tsked. “But apparently, I gave them a little too much power with her.” He snapped his fingers and the nymph exploded with a splash of blood and guts.

Sam exclaimed in disgust and the witch who’d been on the ground began screaming. The other witch turned and fled. She didn’t get out of the clearing before the demon snapped his fingers again, causing her neck to turn around and crack sickeningly. 

“Now, you,” he said, regarding the girl on the ground, “if you don’t stop that ruckus, I’ll make sure and help you.” When her voice quieted to whimpers, the demon tsked again. “Humans never listen.” He snapped his fingers again and her eyes exploded. Blood spilled down her cheeks and she was silent. Jimmy gagged and spat into the foot well. 

“Enough!” Sam bellowed, charging forward. 

“Oh, Sammy,” the demon smirked. “Growing into your big boy pants, aren’t you?” He chuckled darkly. “Or maybe you’re groping your way into your big brother’s pants….”

Dean shot the demon in the forehead. Smoke curled out of the bullet hole and a trickle of black blood ran down his forehead. For a moment, Jimmy thought it was over. But then, the demon’s eyes flashed yellow and his head pitched back in a guffaw. 

“You know you can’t stop me with those little bullets, Dean.”

“Yeah, but it shut you up for a second, so…”

The demon laughed again. “Is it because of your friend over there? He doesn’t know about you, does he?” He clasped a hand to his breast in mock horror. “And whatever would he think if he knew that you and Sam were-“

The crowbar came through his throat from the back of his neck. He gasped and sputtered a moment, clawing at the iron. He cast a fiery glare at Sam as he pulled it loose. “I’d retaliate, Sam, but I’m afraid I’ve got bigger plans for you,” he croaked. He tossed the crowbar at Sam’s feet, then snapped his fingers and was gone. 

Had Jimmy not seen it with his own two eyes, he wouldn’t have believed. As it was, he stumbled out of the backseat of the Impala and heaved, bringing up everything he’d eaten in the last twelve hours. He coughed, gagged, puked some more….until his body was ravaged and exhausted. Sam squatted down beside him, offering him a bottle of water. 

“Thanks,” he groaned, taking a sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, thank you for not doing that in Baby,” Dean teased.

Sam’s face scrunched up and he grabbed Jimmy’s hand in his own. He scrutinized the scar tissue. “How….when?”

“Fourth of July about ten years ago. I’d fallen asleep at the church and woke up with it on fire. I didn’t think….grabbed the tabernacle and escaped.” He presented his other hand, with the matching scar. “It was not without consequence.” He cleared his throat. “St. Michael’s burned to the ground – had to be rebuilt. The tabernacle was the only thing that managed to be saved from the fire. When Father Halloway passed on a couple years ago, he told me to take it with me to whatever parish I served at. It’s followed me here. They called it a miracle.”

Sam sucked in a breath and backed away. “How…how far from the Missouri-Oklahoma border is Sallisaw?”

“About 35 minutes or so. The church was probably a bit farther, I guess.” Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. He helped Jimmy up and began putting things back into the trunk of the car. “They ever find out how the fire started? Arson?”

“The police said most likely some irresponsible kids shooting off fireworks in the country. The grass was dry….”

Sam stepped forward, taking his hands in his again. This time, he stroked a thumb across the scars and looked Jimmy in the eyes. Jimmy knew from experience with the public and reconciling sins, that the man was truly remorseful. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

~*~  
Dean drove the three of them back to town, frowning when Jimmy chastised them for not calling the authorities about the witches’ bodies in the woods. “Be my guest,” he told the priest over his shoulder. “We’d usually salt and burn them, but you were against that, too.” 

“The families of those girls – they’ll surely want to at least have the chance to bury something.”

“Yeah, not everyone’s into that whole burial thing. Think of it as cremation.”

Sam chuckled. “It’s not exactly Orthodox, we admit.”

Jimmy slumped in the backseat. “Not a whole lot about you two is Orthodox.” The men exchanged a glance. “And the reason for putting salt on a body before your cremation process?”

“So the dead stay dead,” Dean answered gruffly. He pulled up to the church with a fancy U-turn maneuver that had Jimmy’s stomach protesting. “How’s that for door side service, Padre?”

Jimmy gave them a tight smile as he exited the car and leaned over to speak with them. “While I can’t say that it’s been a pleasant reunion…”

“You hope you never see us again?” Sam offered, one dimple cutting deep into his face. 

Jimmy saw a glimpse of that boy of ten years past then. “Right.” He looked up at the church, tall and sturdy, lights illuminating the ancient bell tower he’d always been fond of. “If you ever need some questions about God answered…”

Dean leaned over his brother so he could see the priest’s face more clearly. “No offence, but I won’t be poundin’ down your door anytime soon if I have questions about my faith.” He flicked open the glove compartment, rooted around for a few seconds, then held out a tiny glass cylinder for Jimmy to take. “I can’t speak for Sammy, though.”

Jimmy grasped the small vial, shock evident in his face. It was what he’d given Sam all those years ago, filled to the brim with holy water. Now, it was empty – probably from evaporation. “You…”

“Sam had it stashed under his pillow in Sallisaw, when he had that nightmare about the nymph. He didn’t know I’d found it then. I hid it from him, thinking you were one bad dude. Hell, I thought for a little while that you were the one controlling the nymph.”

“I thought your father was the one carving people up in the woods.”

Dean shrugged. “I guess I could see that. Drifters that ask too many questions tend to get a lot of pointed fingers.” He looked at Sam. “But I was wrong about you. You were just trying to help Sammy out – talk to him about life and find something to believe in since you knew we were pretty in and out. I get it now.” He gestured to the vial. “But he had faith in something back then. He’s pretty stubborn when he wants to be, so he didn’t see it for a while.”

Sam frowned. “Hey.”

Dean smirked. “We have each other and that’s important. We’ve kept each other alive and healed each other, body and soul. It’s not easy and sometimes it sucks balls, but at the end of the day, even on the worst of them, there’s faith that we’re there for each other. And that’s what keeps us going.” He gestured to the vial. “You’ve got your religion and we’ve got ours.”

Jimmy looked between the men, embarrassed. Sam’s face was flushed pink and Dean’s eyes caressed Sam’s being with the care of a lover. He watched them for a moment, not sure what to say. Then, Sam cleared his throat and shifted in the passenger seat, breaking the spell over the three of them.

“Okay…,” the younger man said, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “So….yeah. Uh….any questions before we take off? We kind of laid a lot on you.”

Jimmy straightened up, looking around. “I think I’ve got the jest of it. Holy water, salt, iron. All things that ward off evil spirits and demons. Unless they’re higher order like that guy in the woods?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah….I’m still not sure that I’ve not fallen asleep at my desk and have been having an extremely vivid fever dream.”

Sam sighed. “Unfortunately not. But…if you do think of any questions, we’ll be here through the night. Probably stay late tomorrow morning so Dean can get his beauty sleep.”

“Hey!”

“We’re staying at the Road Runner, out by the interstate. Room 122. Feel free to stop by and ask away.” He looked over at Dean. “But, get some rest. Digest what you’ve seen and heard. Then let us know.”

Dean nodded at him before pulling the Impala back onto the road. Jimmy tipped his hand in a half-wave as the car roared away. He trudged back to the church, stopping inside the door to dip his hand in the holy water font and bless himself. He made it to the sanctuary and took a seat in a pew at the front. He sat for a long time, just trying to clear his head. Finally, without knowing what to do next and with adrenaline still pricking at his nerves, he pulled down the kneeler and began to pray.  
~*~  
The next morning, Jimmy woke up in his bed, far from rested. His head throbbed as if he’d imbibed too much alcohol – which he’d only experienced twice before in his life. His eyes were crusted around the edges and his mouth was wet from drool. Every muscle ached. He looked at the clock and was startled to see that it was late morning. He sat bolt upright, remembering that he wanted to catch the Winchesters before they left. 

He forwent the shower and pulled on civilian clothing. Inside the front pocket of his tan slacks, he tucked the vial of holy water, now refilled. He’d even said an extra prayer over it, as if it would make it somehow more potent. He laughed at himself, thinking of the question he truly wanted to ask, and knowing that he probably already knew the answer. How did holy water harm demons and evil things if the user didn’t believe? The person surely must have some sort of faith in God above for it to have effect….or did the demon believe it? 

Speeding along the streets, hoping to make it to the hotel in time, he was jolted to fear when scripture again entered his mind, unbidden. He had to grip the steering wheel tightly against the pain in his palms to keep from jerking it to one side and off the road. 

But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt; because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

It was a miracle in itself that he made it to the motel at all. His body was shaking with fear and his mind was whirring with thoughts. He pulled his car into the first parking spot off the road and sat panting and rubbing his palms against his legs with force. The tingling and throbbing of his scars was so bad that he feared that they’d burst open. It took him several minutes before he could feel the pain subside enough to take in his surroundings. Luckily, he spotted the Impala not far away, near the door marked 122.

He sighed deeply, then pressed forward, climbing out of the car and taking the vial in his hand. He made it to the large plate glass window of the room before he hesitated. The curtains weren’t closed completely and inside, he could see the men. His cheeks burned with what he was seeing.

Sam’s bare back was to the window, sheets slung low on his hips as he lounged in the single king-sized bed in the room. His body moved with a languid roll. In front of him, Jimmy could make out Dean’s form rolling along with his own. Dean’s rugged hand reached out and grasped Sam by the back of the neck, pulling him closer. One of them groaned lightly, but the sound was muffled against the crush of mouths together. 

Jimmy willed himself to move – to leave – but for some reason, he was rooted to the spot. It’s not as if in his younger days, before the Calling, he hadn’t seen his fair share of pornography. But this? This was far from anything he’d seen before.

This was not just two bodies slapping together and pressing towards release. This wasn’t simply carnal desire. This was almost artwork. The muscles in Sam’s back bunched and relaxed with practiced ease. They moved together as they did the evening prior, while fighting. Anticipating movements, wordless communication. It was as if they were parts of the same soul in separate bodies, trying to meld together as they were meant to be. 

Jimmy’s body began to shake with shock when he realized that, even though he knew it to be a sin to lie with one’s brother, he couldn’t see the reasons why in this pair. In fact, seeing this act of love making between Sam and Dean? He was almost certain that this was the most natural way for them to exist. He was even more disturbed with himself when pieces from their relationship that he’d noticed years ago started to make sense. To show him an obvious progression to this from that. 

He hid himself behind the curtains, hoping not to be seen. But he could still hear… His face burned with shame as he leaned even closer to the glass so he could hear them better.

“Yeah, Sammy….yes, baby….right there….”

“I love you, Dean…”

“Always. Always, Sammy…always love you.”

“Forever.”

He stumbled back when one of the men shouted hoarsely in pleasure. The vial of holy water fell from his fingers and he gasped out as it shattered on the sidewalk. It had barely hit the sidewalk when he turned to flee – away from the men, away from his perversions, away from the Godless act he’d witnessed. He wanted to run from himself and his own lack of faith, but there was nowhere to turn. It was as if God had broken his soul with his own hands – this final blow to the already shaky faith he’d been pretending to have. He sped away, not daring to look back at the motel.

~*~  
Jimmy’s face was hot, eyes burning and wet where they hadn’t been in years. His apartment was cold and dark, nearly unfamiliar to him. He made it just inside the door, latching it out of habit, before he fell to his knees on the threadbare carpet and panted. His stomach was churning. His throat convulsed into hiccups and he felt the sobs threatening to start. With a practiced inhale, he gathered himself enough to clasp his hands together; and he cleared his mind as he was instructed to do not long ago. How far he’d come in such a short time….

“Father,” he croaked, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Oh, God...please…I need your guidance and your healing light to come over me in this moment of weakness. In my hour of darkness, hear my prayer.” He swallowed thickly, eyes clenched shut and fingernails biting sharply into the backs of his hands. “I’m afraid I can’t serve you any longer and-”

“You’ve always served me, James.”

Jimmy startled as he realized that the voice was not in his head, as he had once believed. He heard it with his ears and his body felt a presence in the room with him. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming, opening his eyes very slowly. The outline of a man appeared in the shadows just off the living room. Short, slight build, definitely unassuming. Jimmy blinked and peered harder, trying to make out more of the figure. He wasn’t afraid, but rather curious as to who could have entered his apartment in the night.

“Who are you? And how’d you get in here?”

“If you’re asking that question, then I suppose I can truly see how you’d lost faith. In fact, one might even say that you’re like a wave of the sea…”

The man walked towards him, the moonlight coming in through the window illuminating his face. Shaggy curls, hooded eyes, bearded jaw. A slight, calming smile tugged at one corner of his lips. His arms were crossed casually over his chest and his clothing was nondescript. He settled in front of Jimmy, coming to rest on his own knees so they were face to face. “Don’t sell yourself short, James. Even as a small boy, pulling Candice Walton’s pigtails and putting frogs in the bathtub to show your father, you were always a disciple of God.”

Jimmy glanced over him and felt a warm calm settle over his own body. “God?”

The man nodded and let out a huff of laughter. “I prefer to be called Chuck when I’m on Earth, but yes, Jimmy. It’s me.” 

Jimmy felt his breath rush out of his body rapidly, new tears spilling out over his face. “Oh...I-I’m so sorry I’ve lost my way. It’s just these boys-” He bit his lip severely, looking up at the man in front of him nervously. “It’s a sin according to Your word, Father. But the way those boys exist...it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before and I can no longer see it as wrong. Dean and Sam Winchester are…”

Chuck shook his head fondly. “You haven’t lost your way, boy; you’ve simply found a new one. In fact, you are on a much more forward path than the majority of my disciples on Earth currently. Your eyes are open, son.” He took a breath, casting a glance at the small tear on Jimmy’s coat. “The Winchesters are not to be disturbed. They’re my creations, Jimmy, just as you are. They are special and will serve a great purpose for the world. I need you to believe that they are exactly what they are supposed to be and nothing is wrong about that. They were designed specifically to be soulmates. To be two spirits intertwined. It’s unfortunate that the people of this time do not see the beauty in that.”

“But they’re brothers. Born of the same father.”

“As were Adam and Eve; they were the parents of all of humankind. I find no fault in that, nor should you.”

Jimmy shuddered. “I just...how do I…I can’t stand up in front of a congregation every day and lie about my faith. I can’t-”

“You’re in pain,” Chuck said, head tilted to the side in speculation. “I apologize for that, James. And I know that for many years - ever since the fire - you’ve tried to demonstrate a faith that you couldn’t fully commit to. You were angry with me for a long time. But I can help you, if you would like.”

Jimmy’s face flushed red at the realization that God had known about his caution with religion for year. “Help?”

“I will take away this pain you’re feeling. You can live a full life and enjoy your faith - a faith of your own conviction, as it shall be. You can forget about all of this. You can live in peace again.”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

“But I will call on you at some time. Your story isn’t over, Jimmy. You will be needed to help with what’s coming - what’s destined to come. It will be soon, but you won’t remember this conversation until the time comes. All you need to do is say yes when you’re asked. Can you do this?”

“Yes to what?”

“I cannot tell you right now. But you will be asked and you will answer yes.”

“I…”

Chuck leaned forward, a hand reaching out and wiping Jimmy’s face of tears. “You will say yes when the time comes.” He took one scarred hand into his own and pressed a light kiss upon it. The skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light and when Jimmy looked at it again, the cross pattern on it had disappeared. 

Jimmy nodded quickly then, accepting Chuck’s touch. He closed his eyes when two fingers pressed lightly in the center of his forehead. A flash of light came over him, breath stolen and heart beating wildly. He tipped over onto the carpet. His body convulsed once, then all was dark.

~*~   
“Daddy!!! Daddy, wake up!”

Jimmy groaned, rolling over in his bed, frowning as he took in his surroundings. Bright sunlight blinded him, but he was definitely in a bedroom. He blinked and sat up. Pictures of him and a woman were scattered on several walls and surfaces, smiles and kisses from shiny black and white frames. A few photos had the young girl sitting between them; in one, he was holding a tiny baby in a pink blanket. The room was clean, but slightly untidy with crumpled clothes over the chair of a vanity and books lying open on the nightstand beside him. His forehead crinkled in confusion as the door flew open.

A blonde child bounced onto the bed with him. “You’ve been in bed all morning, Daddy! Mommy says it’s time to get ready for Bible study.” She giggled at him, pointing. “Your hair looks funny.”

“Yeah?”

The little girl tugged at his arm, urging him to cross the room and stand at the vanity mirror. His face was slightly unshaven. His blue eyes were heavy with sleep and his hair was sticking up on one side. Unfamiliar pieces clicked all around him, sliding effortlessly into memories that he felt like he’d lived with forever. He laughed unexpectedly. “You’re right, Claire de Lune. It does look pretty funny.” 

He reached over and tugged on her pigtail, smiling. 

A fleeting thought poked sharply as his mind, but it slipped from his grasp before he could catch it. Something about saying yes??? That didn’t make sense…..

“Mommy’s making brunch. What’s brunch?”

Jimmy shook his head to clear it more and gathered his daughter into his arms. “Pancakes at lunchtime. Let’s go.”  
~*~FIN~*~


End file.
